WARNING: mentions of fire and vomit. Descriptions of violence and injury.
Pick Your Poison
He could barely keep himself upright as he skidded around the corner. One hand touched the ground as he threw them out in a bid to keep his balance. It worked – just. Boots slipping slightly, he forced himself to pick up the speed.
'Faster, Alan,' John encouraged in his ear. 'Not much further now. Keep going.'
He didn't really have the energy to spare on questions, but he had to ask, 'Where is he? Is he close?'
'You've got a good distance between you but we're not taking any chances,' John replied. 'It's highly likely that he knows this building, knows his way around. Keep going, you're nearly there.'
'How near is nearly?'
'You're coming up to a T-junction. Fastest way out is left and down the stairs.'
'F.A.B.'
This time, he grabbed the wall as he made the turn, using his momentum to swing him around faster. Yeah, that worked much better. He flung himself through the door to the stairwell. Pulling up short, he nearly crashed into the railings.
'Why have you stopped?' John barked.
'Fire,' Alan said. He coughed. The smoke was already trying to worm its way into his lungs.
'No, there can't be. It's not showing on my scanners.'
'Well, I believe my own eyes a hell of a lot more than your equipment,' Alan shouted. 'I'm going back. I'll take the other turn.'
'F.A.B.,' John said. Alan could hear him pressing buttons, presumably recalibrating his scanners. 'Make it quick.'
He hurtled back the other way. According to John, the other turning would take him through another wing of the building, and he'd have to take a few more twists and turns. It was longer, but it was better than being burned alive.
As he reached the junction, John screamed, 'Alan, stop!'
He screeched to a halt. 'What? What is it?'
'Gas.'
'Gas?'
'There's some kind of gas starting to fill up that wing,' John explained. 'Readouts suggest its highly toxic.'
A chill crept over him. Every inch of his body began to tremble. He walked in a slow circle, eyeing up his options. Fire one way. Gas another. And he couldn't go back the way he'd come from because there was a madman dressed as a fireman wielding an axe chasing him. There was no way Alan could slip past him and he was way too big to fight again. He couldn't tackle the fire in the stairwell because he had no suppressant grenades. He couldn't just walk through the toxic gas because he'd lost his helmet struggling to get away from the madman when he'd first been jumped. His breathing hitched. There was nowhere to go.
'John,' Alan cried, 'I don't know what to do.'
'I – I'm not… just give me a second, okay?' For the first time – at least the first time Alan had heard – John sounded completely bewildered. Like he didn't know what to do either. Those few seconds of silence while Alan let him think were the longest of his life. 'Alright. Okay. I've got an idea, but it's a bad one.'
'How bad?'
'Very, but we're out of time. He's just around the corner – Alan, take the right turn. Take it now.'
Another person might have questioned his sanity. Another person might have wasted more time by reminding John about the toxic gas. But Alan didn't. A bad plan was better than no plan. Better than standing floundering at a junction only to get your head taken off by an axe. He jogged in the direction of the doors.
'Before you enter the wing, take a deep breath,' John instructed. 'You're going to hold your breath for as long as you can, okay?'
He didn't bother replying. He sucked in as deep of a breath as he possibly could and stepped through the doors.
Even holding his breath, the presence of the gas hit him quickly. He had to force himself to keep his eyes open, the chemicals in the air making them water. He walked quickly, eyes darting this way and that. Man, it burned.
'Good, you're doing really well,' John said. 'Follow the natural direction of the room, don't turn off. We're looking for a room labelled 'Hazmat' – I can see it on the blueprints. I'm hoping they have some kind of oxygen masks or rebreathers or something.'
Hoping. That explained why the plan was bad. They were going out on a limb here. That was fine. Classic International Rescue, taking it right down to the wire. Alan wouldn't have it any other way. Apart from right now, of course. Right now, a more solid plan would be better.
He made it to the end of the corridor, to the door that read 'Hazmat'. By now, his lungs were starting to scream at him, and there was a darkness creeping in around the edges of his vision. He fumbled with the handle but managed to get the door open.
'Please let there be something in there,' he heard John whisper.
There was. Yellow hazmat suits lined the walls, but Alan paid them no mind. Instead, he lunged straight for the masks, neatly organised on a nearby shelf. Snapping it on was a struggle, but it was worth it when he could breathe again. His gasps came out ragged, deafeningly loud in the silence of the room, but in that moment, he didn't care about the volume. He didn't care if the madman could hear him. He sat for a moment, letting himself breathe.
'Good job, sprout,' John said. Alan could hear the relief in his voice. 'Now, back on your feet. Let's get you out of there.'
John was right about his original assessment of the route. It was complicated and twisty. Alan was tripping over his own feet with exhaustion and had to keep one hand on the wall just to stop himself from toppling over. All the while, John rattled off encouragements in his ear, telling him he was doing a great job, updating him on how much further he had to go. Alan could hardly hear him, but just knowing he was there was enough.
Just two doors stood between him and freedom. As he reached the first one, he looked ahead to the next. A helmeted face appeared in the window. Scott. Alan could have cried with relief. He swung the door open, Scott doing the same on the other end.
'ALAN!' Scott hollered, voice bleeding with fear.
A large hand wrapped around Alan's wrist, yanking him backwards. He screamed.
xxxxx
He shot upright, screams still tearing from his throat. Hands pushed him back. He struggled against them – he'd bite them if he had to. There was something on his face. Everything hurt. He couldn't see. The hands were still pushing him.
'ALAN, STOP!'
He froze. Slowly, he peeled his eyelids open. A face swam into view, this time without a helmet.
'Scott!' He breathed.
'That's right, buddy, I've got you,' Scott whispered. 'I've got you.'
'What – what happened?'
Scott eased him back onto his pillows. Huh, pillows. Alan looked around. He was in the infirmary. He was home.
'What do you remember?' his brother asked.
'He got me,' Alan whispered. 'That's the last thing… he got me.'
Scott nodded. 'He did. And then I got him. And then I got you out of there. Then you threw your mask off, threw up on my boots, and passed out.'
'Oh. Sorry.'
'Ah, it's okay. They're just boots, and it wipes right off.' Scott shrugged. 'Colonel Casey's making it her personal mission to make sure that guy never sees the outside of a jail cell ever again. And John's on his way down, but he wanted to see Virgil and Gordon through the last of their mission first. I think he wants to make sure everyone gets home safe.'
Alan nodded. The action sent a blinding pain through his skull, and he grimaced… which made it feel like his skin was being peeled off his face. He blinked rapidly as the burning sensation in his eyes returned. 'Ow, OW! Scott?'
'I know, bud, I'm sorry.' He gently smoothed a hand through Alan's hair. 'He cracked you over the head pretty good before I got to you. And you've got some pretty nasty chemical burns on your face. You might find your vision gets a bit blurry after a while, too. We're still not sure what that gas was, but we're treating the symptoms as they come. Grandma doesn't think it's too bad though, so you'll be okay. Need some painkillers?'
He considered this for a moment. Then his eyelids began to droop. 'No. Not right now. Just wanna sleep.'
'That's okay. You get some rest.'
'Stay with me?'
There was a rustle, and the bed dipped as Scott clambered in next to him. With a sigh, he snuggled into his brother's chest. He could hear Scott's heart beating steadily in his chest, in time with his own. He let the sound lull him back to sleep.
He was safe.
